Page 9 of Texting My Mafia Savior

Nico:Try?

Me:My head’s all over the place right now.

Nico:That’s understandable.What are you reading? Fiction? Non-fiction?

He’s taking a minor interest, probably like any uncle would with his niece. Yet, I feel that warm glow again, the way I felt when his eyes first focused on me. It’s like Imatterto him. It’s like I—I need to chill, like he said. Stop letting my thoughts run away.

Me:It’s fiction, a novel about a girl who learns her parents’ marriage became loveless years ago, but they kept up the charade for her. It’s pretty dark and depressing, but the writing is beautiful.

Nico:Yeah, that sounds dark. But those things happen, so it’s valid for the author to explore the issue.

Me:It’s heartbreaking.They feel like they have to remain trapped in the relationship, in the lie, for her sake. But when she finds out, she tells them she wishes they’d ended it years ago. They’ve made her lifemiserable by staying together and hating each other. Like I said—dark, depressing.

Nico:Marriage is a tricky thing.It sounds like an interesting read.

I chew on my lip, looking at the line about marriage. I want to ask ifhismarriage is ever tricky. The guilt gnawing at me. It’s not my place to ask—or even think—anything about his relationshipwith my aunt.

Me:Are you reading anything right now?I ask instead, playing it safe and appropriate.

Nico:I’m reading something fascinating called ‘Commercial Lease Agreement and Tenant Improvement Addendum.’ The prose is quite dry, but the pace… well, that’s slow too. And the characters? Well, they all have uncreative names like Party and Tenant.

I laugh.

Me:It sounds riveting.I added a laughing emoji, and I clicked send.

He doesn’t reply for a minute, then two, then three. I tell myself it’s no big deal. And really, it shouldn’t be. Let’s face it. He’s my uncle. His delayed texts shouldn’t bother me, even if it takes years. I shouldn’t be sitting here, waiting,pining. I never had a boyfriend; I never needed one. Success, I figured, would be when I could finally consider romance.

After ten minutes, rejection sinks in. I have no right to feel that way, which makes it even more frustrating.

He doesn’t reply for the rest of the night. Or the following morning. I spend the time staring at the pages of my book, trying to make the words sink in, with my thoughts away from Nico. My uncle. I seriously need to take his advice. I need to chill.

“I’m sorry about getting us into that mess,” Lilly says.

We’re sitting in the yard of my family’s townhouse, a bigWelcome Homesign hanging above the small party. Dad has bought a big firepit. That, combined with the heat coming from the grill, provides just about enough warmth for us all to sit, drink, and chat in our coats.

“It’s fine,” I tell Lilly.

“I shouldn’t have drunk so much. He hasn’t come by your house, has he?”

“He doesn’t have my address. You?”

She shakes her head. “He was probably just trying to freak us out, act tough, right?”

Her voice wavers when she saysright. I place my hand on hers, smiling tightly. “Yeah, I bet you’re right. I don’t think we should even worry about it anymore. He’s out of our lives, and that’s that.”

I haven’t told her about his threats of legal action or the apology I have to give him. It would just make her feel even worse. It’s not her fault some weirdo targeted her and made our night miserable. He contacted me through Dad, probably finding himon his company’s website. A simple email with “Legal Action” as the subject is all it took.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lilly asks.

“Why?”

“You just seem quiet.”

I force a smile. The last thing I need is to mope because Nico never texted me back. What was he even supposed to say? He made a joke. I sent laughing emojis. Did I expect a love poem in response?

My aunt, Lucy, is here for the party. She stands across the firepit with her business partner, Giancarlo. Gian has high cheekbones and wears thick-framed hipster glasses, reflecting in the firelight. Lucy laughs at everything he says as she sips her glass of wine. Lucy’s here, but not her husband. No Nico. It shouldn’t matter. Itdoesn’t.

I busy myself snapping candid shots at the party. I aim to capture people at their most genuine, unposed moments. I get some heartwarming ones of Mom and Dad holding each other near the fire. Then, a funny one of Mom giving Dad cooking advice at the grill, which he clearly doesn’t think he needs. I move through the crowds, saying hello to old acquaintances. When I head inside to snap some more, my screen shows alowbatterysign, so I head upstairs to change the batteries.

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